Late Night Musings
by Adara's Rose
Summary: It's not all sunshine and roses to be the Hero of Amn. One-shot look into the mind of the Bhaalspawn, late ToB-campain.


I played through BGII:ToB for the second time with Kelsey, my favorite Mod. This time as a Male PC. And this wouldn't leave me alone for hours, so I caved and wrote. Title could be better, and it is very short, but I needed to get this out before I go to face the last boss and win the game...

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He had offered to take the late night watch, earning the gratefulness of his companions. He sat now, alone, gazing into the fire, his thoughts drifting to topics he did not enjoy dwelling on. But like a wound that would not heal, he simply could not leave it alone.

The desert was cold at night, but in the distance he could see the remains of Saradush; his eyes saw far beyond what men saw, especially at night where there were no distractions. He saw the city lights, burning. Like the fire before him. Like the agony pulsing through his veins.

They slept, now, his companions, safe in the knowledge that he guarded them. Minsc's snores were loud enough to wake the dead, as they usually were, but after so many months together they had all gotten used to hearing them. Both Imoen and Aerie had complained about it being too quiet in the inns, where they could not hear the reassuring rumble. Boo slept, as usually, curled up at the nape of the big warrior's neck. He could not help but smile at them. Minsc was the epitome of innocence; even after all they had seen and done. Still so innocent, the big lug. He wondered if he had ever been like that. He doubted it. He was born jaded.

Aerie's blond hair glinted softly in the light from the fire, which made it look like molten gold. She was beautiful, and she did quicken his pulse, but she was not the one he wanted. He hoped she would understand that in time, without forcing him to tell her so. He could not stand to see her tears. It wasn't her fault.

He stared at the burning red curls belonging to the one he longed to hold, and the Other. The two lay as close as they dared, not quite touching, as if fearing the other would vanish in the dark. The red curls burned like the fire in his soul.

He had longed to touch those curls since the first time their eyes met. Hungered to kiss, stroke, and lavish. To see blue eyes haze. But also to hold, comfort, protect, and guard. To offer the world at his beloved's feet. It was so easy to go dark; the call was constantly there, and with darkness came a power that was almost unimaginable. If he had that power, he could bend his beloved to his will. Have what he was dying for; dying like a man without water skins, lost in the desert. But he had seen the terror in the captivating eyes when he turned in Spellhold; it had felt as if he was dying. No, he would not turn dark. For his beloved's sake, he would fight until his last breath. A part of him wished that it would be soon. It would stop this horrible, gnawing ache deep within where he suspected his soul was meant to reside. He had gotten it back from Irenicus, but the empty feeling would not abide. it would, he suspected, never abide. He was empty; the only thing left was the pain, fear and the anger. But most of all, it was the love for those blue eyes. The eyes that were so sharp but did not see what he was dying to show.

He lost himself in the fire; allowing himself, for once, to think of the way his name had sounded falling from his beloved's mouth earlier. Pretended, just for an instant, that it had been called in passion. The same passion that drove him to Aerie's bed. Not once, not twice, but many times over. He used her, and he knew he did. He just couldn't bring himself to stop. Not as long as he hungered to run his fingers through red curls. To kiss those blue eyes.

The night was late; and in the light from the fading fire, he dreamt of the love he would never have. The hope he would never dare to voice. He knew, one day, he would die for his beloved. It gave him peace, to think that. With his death, he would be gone. Destroyed. Nevermore in anguish. Never again weeping in the cover of darkness. And he hoped, when his time came, that he would be forgiven.

Forgiven, for hating his sister. Forgiven, for wanting to take what was hers. Forgiven, for loving the one person he could never have. But most of all, he hoped Kelsey would forgive him for never having the strength to tell him he loved him.

Fin.


End file.
